Crnogor

The raider held the man at gunpoint. His finger squeezing the trigger of the revolver, as he sneered at the victim. “Don’t make it hard on you. Your money or your life, this should be an easy choice.”   As the bandit ventured closer, a silent gust of wind struck him from behind. His feet trembled for a second, as a dark shadow now loomed over him. The bandit cried out in surprise. Swinging his revolver around, only to have his wrist snapped in a beaked trap. His feet then left the ground, as hoarse laughter echoed from all around the criminal. His eyes blur with colours of red, blue and green.   The air left the robber's lungs, as he hit the ground with his belly. Laying there, as he felt four sharp knives pin him into the dirt. Hard enough to mean business, light enough to avoid drawing blood. His eyes then caught them. Beneath the weight of a gryphon, five guardsmen stood besides the victim. All six laughing and pointing. Moments later, he’d be carried away to the stocks.

    Crnogor is not tame, not broken, nor a creature raised in servitude to the Golden Empire. He is a wild Corvidian Gryphon - an extremely rare breed within the family of feathered fiends. Where most untamed gryphons would act with suspicion and hostility to mortals, Crnogor is not just a rare breed literally, but figuratively.   At a young age, the creature was caught in a bear trap and left for dead. The hunter, at first terrified of the beast he had accidentally injured, chose to release and mend the beast. Feeding him and giving Crnogor a proper change at living.   Even though the nursing only carried on for a month, before the young Gryphon could take care of himself, he’d never forget the face of his caretaker.   Ever since he left - Crnogor would swing by to check on the hunter at least once a week, while begging for snacks. This behaviour lasted for five years, until the hunter’s son joined the army.   It was in a critical moment of life and death, that the young soldier found himself as a sacrifice to a hell worshipping cult. As he lay upon a stone altar, somewhere in the mountains of Vougliano - they could all hear a bloodfreezing cry.   Before the blade could slit the young man’s throat, talons had already carved lethal wounds through the mad fanatics. What followed was a vicious slaughter of a dozen cultists. Their screams guided the army to rescue the young soldier, as he lay there. Corpses all around his bound body, with only the gryphon standing. Growling at the soldiers, but holding back from attacking.   Ever since that fateful day - a terrified but equally fascinated Tribune went out of his legal rights to promote Crnogor to an honorary Centurion. An act which was at first both scowled and laughed at, among the Legates of the VIIIth Legion. Between humoured and annoyed commanders, they would all soon be unified in awe - as this was but the first intervention among several dozens.